I was having a little trouble making ends meet last year.  A buddy suggested, half kidding, I think, that I place an ad in the back of a gay rag, to try to make a little extra money.  "Hey man, you gotta use whatever talents you got, right?"  By talent, I guess he meant that I  had a nice body and was hung pretty well.  I was only 5'9", but had packed on quite a lot of muscle, weighing in at a fairly solid 230-- a bit of a belly, I guess, but thick legs and arms, barrel chested and strong.  This was Southern California, after all, and it was pretty well known that most of the serious body builders at my gym had placed ads like that, to make extra cash to buy roids, which were expensive. 

Anyway, I thought, "What the fuck?"  I posted an ad with a picture of myself, in tighty whiteys, with my head down, the bill of my baseball cap hiding my face, making me fairly unrecognizable.  I was "new meat", I guess, because the calls started coming the first day.  I was nervous the first few times, but realized that most of these guys just wanted to suck a big man's dick or have him fuck 'em.  I didn't mind at all.  Most of them weren't much to look at, but what did I care.  I even had some regulars.  I was surprised how many of these guys were married.  Most were middle class and middle aged.  I refined my ad to read "total top", and the calls doubled.  I was getting $200 a pop to let 'em blow me, more if I put it up some guy's ass. 

I got a call one Wednesday night, which is usually slow, from some guy up in the Hollywood Hills.  I drove to the address he gave me and pulled up to a security gate.  A beautiful, modern house with a pool was on the other side, behind lots of lush landscaping.  "Oooh, cashola I thought."  I'd gotten up to $1,000 bucks from rich guys like this just for "extras" like spending the night, or using a dildo on them or tying them up or something. 

I rang the bell, and nice looking guy in his late 40's/early 50s answered.  He was balding, but in pretty good shape, taller than me and well dressed.  He was very polite, professional even,  introduced himself and showed me into the living room.  Man, was this a nice place.  We sat on the couch and he said, "Well, lets start by getting business out of the way, ok?" he said enthusiastically, rubbing his hands together.  I liked his direct approach.  "I'll get right to the point", he said.  "I'll give triple your fee if I can fuck you".  I got up off the couch.  "Shit", I thought.  "Out of luck this time".  I'd had guys try this before, and I'd always told 'em to fuck off.  "Sorry Pal, I thought I was pretty specific in my ad".  "If thats not what you're looking for, you shouldn't have wasted my time or yours".  "No, wait!" he said, motioning for me to sit down.  "Calm down".  "Man, you are the real thing, huh?"  "I just had to be sure".  "I don't want to pay for somebody who's pretending to be something he's not." 

"I'm fine with your being top, big guy", he says.  "I'll tell you what-- we'll do whatever you're comfortable with, and its still triple your fee.  Friends?"  "Ok", I smiled, and sat back down.  "Now, how about a drink?".  I'd learned in situations like this to ask for single malt scotch, which I couldn't usually afford.  He brought it to me in short order. 

We sat and talked, mostly him talking really, asking about my workouts, my measurements, did I have a roommate, etc, while I downed his expensive scotch.  I leaned forward after a few minutes, and said, "lets get this show on the road, bud".  "I've got an early workout in the morning."  As I did so, I felt the drink hit me.  "Man, that's good shit", I smiled, and then I was out cold. 

I came to, groggy, totally out of it, in a dimly lit, starkly furnished room.  I was on a medical bed or gyno table or some such shit.   My legs were spread at the knees, and elevated, my head upright. I was covered in a sheet, and I soon discovered that my arms were strapped down at my sides.  I tried to pull my knees in ward, but they were strapped down too.  I squirmed my ass, and it felt like I was naked under the sheet.  "Fuck"  I yelled, as loud as I could.  Then I just started yelling, bucking around on the table, freaking out.  Soon he came into the room from behind me, startling me.  He ran his hand through my hair, and calmly said,   "Now, now, what's all this?  shhhh.... Calm down big guy, you'll hurt yourself."  "Where am I?, I demanded. " What the fuck did you give me?"    "Soooo many questions" he said calmly.  "Relax", he almost whispered.  "There's plenty of time for questions.  And I've got all the answers you want."  "In fact, I can't wait to tell you everything, Patrick".  How did he know my real name?  He must have gone through my wallet when he stripped me down.    

"Here, lets start with  a visual, shall we?"  They say they're worth a thousand words. Lets see if they're right.  He pulled one of those hospital  tables over my midsection, like they use to serve meals and stuff.  He walked over to a table in the corner and approached me, carrying something in each hand.  He sat a jar on the table in front of me.  I couldn't make out what was inside at first.  It looked like something you'd see at a medical lab, some sort of specimen.  "What is that, a tumor or something.?  What the fuck kind of shit are you into, you sick fuck?", I demanded.  "No Patrick, its not a tumor.  Look closer".  I squinted, still groggy, and looked closer.  "Fuck man, is that somebody's nuts?  It looks like a set of balls."  "You sick fucker!".  

"Well, if you like that, lets see what you think of jar #2".  He sat the jar on the table.  This was a little easier to make out.  It was obviously somebody's preserved dick. I thought I was going to be sick.  Did this sicko cut off somebody's dick and balls?  Fuck, I had to get out of  there.  I started to struggle again and then just broke down and cried.  "Let me go, man".  I don't know what you want."  "Just fuckin' let me go, please..." 

"Patrick, I'm disappointed.  Don't these look familiar to you?" 
he smiled as he spoke.    I looked at the jars again, and then at him, shaking my head.  "Thats right.  They're yours, big man".  "No, you didn't, you couldn't... How...?"

"Oh, it was easy.  Its not a complicated procedure really, I just..."  he began.  "I don't fucking believe you.  This is some sort of trick". "You're just a fucked up guy with a weird fuckin' sense of humor..."    "Looks like somebody needs some convincing", he said, rolling back the table with the jars.  "Why I'm happy to show you my work".  I'm very proud of it actually".  "No one gets a smoother, tighter, cleaner result, if I do say so...".  He pulled back the sheet, and in one horrifying moment, I saw that it was no joke.  I almost passed out.  I'd been shaved, belly button to knees, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, between my legs, except a small incision and tiny, black stitches, with a catheter tube exiting from, well from, just this tiny hole near my ass.    I stared stupidly at my now empty crotch.  "Why?" was the only word I could form, as I shook my head in disbelief, unable to stop staring at myself.  It was so odd, so surreal. 

To be continued....